


We've Come a Long Way (From Where We Began)

by TheBryannaC



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Brief description of a blow job, Brief mention of Bipolar Disorder, Forgive me for my mistakes, I Love You, Last speeches, M/M, OOC, Sadness, graves, it hurts, raining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:13:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3848821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBryannaC/pseuds/TheBryannaC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after 5x12, Ian visits Mickey in a way we wish he didn't have to.<br/>(Super bad summary but please give it a go. <3)</p>
            </blockquote>





	We've Come a Long Way (From Where We Began)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first attempt at fanfiction for the Shameless fandom and I'm nervous about posting.   
> This is entirely unbeta'd and I really haven't edited much aside reading it through so please be gentle.   
> I would love to hear about how you felt about this. I cried writing this, but that's not important, so without further ado I present my first fic.   
> I have tumblr so if you'd like to follow me and send submissions for fic's I'd love to have them.   
> singingwritingactressperson.tumblr.com

Clouds shaded the sky a dark grey and a light mist rained over the gloomy atmosphere and polished stones littering the grass, falling upon the shoulders of a single person sitting in front of a newly filled in grave, his butt getting covered in the light brown sand, and his hands holding a framed picture of a man with short black hair, guarded but bright blue and expressive eyebrows. There wasn’t anything beyond his face except his shoulders that were clad in the simple black tank top he always wore.   
The wind was blowing ferociously, whipping his short red hair around and into his face and between his chapped pink lips. He brought the picture closer to his body, hugging it to her chest in grief, and releasing a few strangled sobs that tore out and into the rain washed earth, and being swept up because of the howling wind, and not heard by anyone but the glittering, wet marble and corpses beneath the earth. But if anyone saw the redness in his eyes or heard the constant sniffling to keep the running snot back he’d deck them in the face. That is what Mickey would have done had he been here. He sniffed roughly, using the back of his left hand to wipe the mucus away from his dripping nose, and brush away new tears, before scooting closer, staining his pants with wet dirt to trace the ‘M’ of his first name, and then the ‘I.’  
“Fuck.” He muttered rubbing the wetness from his eyes with the heel of his hand. “You weren’t supposed to leave me, you bastard…” He grumbled at the picture.   
“I… Sammi… Fuck…” He continued without much thought. Too many thoughts were swirling in his head. He closed his eyes letting his memory bring up the quick thud, thud, and thud of Mickey’s shoes as he pounded across the pavement toward the Gallagher house, and Ian remembered letting Mickey go, even after Mickey declared his love for him.  
“I was so dumb, Mick, and you may not have believed it or thought we needed it but we had so much we had to do yet. I had dreams for us.” He stopped looking at the sky, letting the water cool his face down from being as upset as he was. Dreams... That’s really all they were now, all they ever would be.   
“I walked away from you… I…” He stopped again letting his finger push through the ‘C’ and then the “K” swirling through the ‘E’ then finally tracing his finger through the “Y.”   
“We take care of each other. That’s what you said and all I did was throw you away, and… And all those fucked up things I said at the dugouts? They were so fucking dumb…” He cried brokenly, holding back the picture enough to see his face, still smiling a large toothy smile, lacking the normal stubbornness and sarcasm. Now, filled with an unguarded happiness and his face held ease. Ian remembered taking the shot. Mickey had been sitting in their room in the Milkovich house when he had found a wrinkled picture of himself in a sports magazine in the bathroom. Ian remembered trotting into the bathroom and watched giddily as the Milkovich’s neck and face turned a deep red.   
‘It’s only fair I have a picture of you!’ Ian exclaimed chuckling at his boyfriend.   
‘Fuck off...’ Mickey had chortled back snagging the paper from Ian’s hand. Ian had ducked his head contemplating how he could get a picture out of him and then decided to use his best maneuver. Dropping to his knees he unzipped Mickey’s pants and took out Mickey’s cock and before Mickey could protest Ian had his mouth around it. He took his time, taking the time to really let Mickey become undone before bringing Mickey to his orgasm and swallowing every spurt that shot out of him. In his post coital haze Ian pulled out his phone and got the picture… He bent his head and sniffled again, hiccoughing, before he scooted again to rest his back on the stone, leaning his head on it.  
“This is as close as I can get to feeling you now…” He murmured lifting his head again to the clouds still releasing the torrent of rain.   
“I know you’d say something like ‘fuck you’ or ‘if you’re going to be a cheeseball get back on me’ but you don’t understand… You’ve always been solid to me. When Monica came back you were there, after all the shit Frank puts us through you were there...” He stopped then.  
“I haven’t been able to sleep since... You know…” He whispered quietly, glancing at the silvery headstone.  
“I went back to the house a couple of days after you… You died…. And Lana let me in, she didn’t yell, and she wasn’t crying… God, she is so fucking incredible Mick. We don’t talk much and she doesn’t let me around Yev… I think that is only because it’s what remains of you and she wants to keep me away from it… I don’t blame her…” He cried almost angrily but instantly felt guilty.  
“Mickey…” A strangled sob caught in his throat, constricting the muscle like a vice, and he feared he’d choke. He rested his head on his knees as he drew them to his chest just breathing in the wet air, and trying to sort through her emotions.  
“Do you remember the first time we fucked? Over a fucking gun and you got so hard just being on top of me. You were so adamant about it being a quick fuck but I knew it wasn’t.” He exhaled in a shudder, tears blossomed in his eyes again.  
“Or our first time in the dugouts?” He cut off, looking to the sky, where the rain had stopped for now, the now black and rolling clouds were still ugly and threatening. He knew he should leave before so he wouldn't get sick but he didn't care.  
“Or when we were robbing Ned’s ex-wife and you came back and fucking kissed me. You really fucking kissed me and then you got shot. Like..” He snorted then, letting the good memories come forward.  
“You looked out for me. You were, are and always will be my best friend Mickey Milkovich. We may have never said it but I felt it.” He finished glancing at his picture again, remembering how the face in the picture, didn't resemble the face he’d seen at the funeral. In the picture he still looked like Mickey, still looked alive, where at the funeral he looked plastic, and dead. Gone away forever, and he wanted to run away from the problems again like he had before. Before bipolar disorder, and fucked up relationships.   
”Mickey, I tracked down Mandy after it all, and I brought her home. I thought if I didn’t bring her back that she’d never know that I fucked up so badly to get you killed.” He stopped, again, mind racing, to many words, and thoughts, and memories flowing through mind. This was also the first time he had used the phrase ‘getting killed’ since that shoot off and to avoid the mass of guilt building in his chest he started once more with a new tract of mind.  
“So many people told me to not be near you let alone with you. ‘Big bad ole Milkovich's’ and all, but I defended you, because you and Mandy were all that who cared, and even now they tell me that. That you were bad news, that you weren't good but I don’t believe them, I won’t. I know you were a good person Mick. I always knew.” He concluded again, turning her head slightly to press her lips on the cold, smooth stone.  
“You will probably want to punch me yourself, I never told you but I thought we’d be together forever, I really did, and I want to be so mad at you for leaving me here, but I can’t. I never can be mad at you, because I did this myself. I screwed up by joining the army and going AWOL, and telling Sammi. I did this and I can’t be mad at you. You took the fall for me and I will hold that with me forever.” He breathed quietly.  
“It’s only been two weeks but, it feels like I've gone a lifetime without you, and I keep expecting you to text me, or call me. I keep looking for you at home, and I But you don’t do that anymore. Because you’re… Dead. Just dead. That’s it, no happy ending.” He muttered sadly, pulling at the blades of grass poking from the fresh, newly filled in grave. He exhaled sharply, looking up to the sky again trying to stop the tears.  
“You know, I listened to the messages from when I left with Yev, and one stuck out to me. I know I said that we didn’t acknowledge how important we were to each other but I wish we had. You loved me. You fucking loved me.” He chattered feeling the cold sink in. He hit play on the saved message and let the words caress over his skin.   
“You loved me, and I never said it back! I should have fucking said it back!” He whispered to the clouds, wiping his eyes again.   
“Maybe if I had said it you’d still be alive but I didn’t and now I’ll never know. You’ll never know and fuck does that hurt.” He exclaimed angrily at himself.  
“You were the best man I ever had the pleasure to know, and I will miss you so much... Miss that ass of yours.” He joked then trying to lift himself from the funk of grief and guilt.   
“I will miss all the shit we’d do, no one knew me better than you.” He spoke evenly casting her eyes back down to the stone, and propped his picture up against it, next to his name.  
“I deserve this in the end, so I’ll live on to pay respect to the shit you put up witht the hell of a great man you were. I’ll take care of Mandy, and I am so fucking sorry, Mick.” He sighed sadly before stopping when he felt the presence of someone behind him. He looked up only to see their third piece of the puzzle, their other best friend, and the sister of his lost, Mandy. Mandy’s once blonde hair was growing in black again and her blue eyes looked at the stone of her brother and not the boy in front of it, until they were and they looked like they debated being angry or being comforting. Mandy was strong to, she didn’t cry at the funeral just mock punched the casket and muttered “You fucking shit head” before walking away. Ian had never seen anyone be so strong, especially because he felt Mandy always preferred Mickey to their other brothers.  
“Ian? There you are.” Mandy spoke with relief evident in her voice, letting the comforting part of her come through but it was still strained with distaste and anger for the boy for being the cause of her brother. She eyes cast over the headstone and his defeated position.  
“How long have you been out here?” She asked quietly, crouching down before giving up and sitting on the dirt next to him. He closed his eyes and let his head roll a bit, before picking them up to meet her eyes to his puffy, red ones.  
“Only a couple of hours.” He assured her. She pressed her lips into a thin line sighing.   
“You’re going to get sick.” She commented after a brief moment, Ian shook his head looking down.  
“I know.” He breathed before looking back at the picture.  
“I just really needed to be with him, and I just didn’t care that it was raining.” He ended pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes to stem the flow back, but it really was no use, and then to his surprise he felt Mandy move and envelope him in a hug of no other, she buried her face into the crook of his neck and just stayed. In that moment he imagined it was Mickey coming back, his arms apologizing for the pain he was putting Ian through, just like he had when they admitted Ian the hospital and he clung to her for dear life.   
"Ian, we need to go. You know Mickey would kick your ass for acting like this, and you know that he wouldn't want you risking yourself like this…" Mandy pointed out. Ian nodded allowing himself to steal one last glance at his best friend’s grave. He stood and wiped his pants off the best he could and started walking away looking back over his shoulder.  
"I love you too." he whispered as they walked away, and then didn't look back.   
Mandy dropped him off at the Milkovich home where he went back to their room and laid in bed. He knew he’d have to get up, and go to work, and be a functioning member of society. He also knew that his family would begin to worry that his actions weren't healthy even if he was grieving but as he buried himself in Mickey’s side of the bed he decided that life decisions could wait until the hurt, hurt less.


End file.
